


A Season in Red

by FlowerKnight



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood and Injury, Car Accidents, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Light Angst, M/M, Modern AU, and feelings!, hope you enjoy!, just a little bit I promise this is a christmas fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-03
Updated: 2018-01-03
Packaged: 2019-02-11 13:27:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12936249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlowerKnight/pseuds/FlowerKnight
Summary: Christmas night was definitively the best time of the year... To crash your car.The snowstorm and the lack of answer to his phone calls did not make Grantaire's night any better.He had one call left to make, and he was regretting it already - or maybe there was something special about Christmas ?





	A Season in Red

**Author's Note:**

> Happy holidays everyone !  
> jehan-in-the-flowers.tumblr.com

    "Well, this is going to be embarrassing.  
\- Are we talking last Halloween party levels of embarrassment?  
\- You're not letting go, aren't you?"  
    Grantaire could hear Enjolras sigh at the other end of the phone.  
    "It's Christmas, Grantaire. I thought we had a peace agreement, at least for today.  
\- Listen Enjolras, I'm st-"  
    Grantaire never finished his sentence - mostly because the line was cut. He thought about throwing his phone as far as possible in the snow to relieve the intense frustration, but he realised that it wasn't the best idea for somebody stuck in a snowstorm. Well, one thing left to do.  
    "Grantaire?  
\- Enjolras, please, the reception is shi-"  
    "Shit." Grantaire let an irritated huff out. Why, of all places and of all days, did he have to crash his car in the middle of nowhere, in the middle of a snowstorm, in the middle of Christmas. Grantaire never loved Christmas anyway.  
    His phone rang again. Enjolras.  
    "Grantaire, what the hell?  
\- Enjolras! For revolution's sake, shut up and listen. I need you to come.  
\- To what?  
\- Come get me.  
\- Wh-What? I can't hear y-  
\- Car. Road D466. South of Versailles. Now. Please ?"  
    The line cut again - Grantaire didn't believe in god but he began to pray whatever dude was in the sky that Enjolras heard him because the few percents of battery left on his phone weren't going to grant him another call. As he returned to his car, he received a text.

 

> _Birth giver (24/12/2017 22:23)_  
>  _Youre being ridiculous & youre childish for not answering. come back right now and apologize to your family. thank you for ruining xmas. _

    He could have thought of a salty answer, some sass could bring much needed warmth to his stone, cold heart that made his relatives suffer so much, but that was the exact moment his phone's battery chose to die. Grantaire sank into his car seat. He had somehow lost control and left the road, flipped over a few times before falling on its wheels and finally stopping.Maybe it wasn't the best way for him to discover that, in fact, he didn't see his life flash before his eyes. Time stretched and he was just there, paralyzed, trapped in a fast engine that he had no control over. A few seconds he could remember every detail of. The seat belt locking, the snow taking the sky's place, the airbags hitting his nose, the driver window shattering, and him, eyes wide open, every detail carving into his memory like glass shards into his arm. And the blood. He didn't know enough about the law of physics and fate, but he was thankful to whatever phenomenon responsible for his survival. He took a couple of minutes to check his entire body (twice): his nose was bleeding, he had a few cuts - and probably bits of glass - there and there, and he was certain that he'll sport the most impressive bruises in the days to come; but his legs, his arms, his hands were working, and his head was still where it was supposed to be, after all. His car was wrecked beyond repair, but the cold was going to eat him alive if he stayed longer outside - not that it was warmer inside anyway. Grantaire had no way to know what time it was, so the minutes of waiting quickly turned into forever. Did Enjolras understood what he said?  
    Was he going to come?  
   And if he decided not to come? Enjolras and Grantaire's relationship wasn't at his best, after all. If there ever was a best. He had join les Amis de l'ABC, an association that helped refugees with education and paperwork, hoping to find a sense of purpose. A month later, he was convinced that he had found his purpose in life, only not where he was seeking it. Whose fault was it if Grantaire had found purpose in bugging the life out of Enjolras? His face, as serious as a statue is cold, when he talked about society. He had a duty in bringing some life back to it. Some red to those cheeks (sometimes they match his lips - it was to die for). And if it was by making him angry... Well, so be it. And angered finely suited him. It complemented his fits of passion. And he was desperately idealist, a stargazer feeding on hope for the human race - someone had to bring him back to reality, right? And, as a rightful consequence, of course Enjolras didn't like him. Who would like someone who would tease you on each and every word? But he would still answer most of the time (he almost had an heart attack the day he discovered that Enjolras could tease back). Grantaire has a field day each time he does (and the teasing fucktupled ever since).  
    Convincing himself that he had to call Enjolras hadn't been easy for Grantaire. He had call every other Ami, but without success. What was more natural during the night of Christmas? They were all with their families and Grantaire could not possibly be angry at them for that, no. But calling Enjolras? Grantaire had to swallow his pride before dialing his number. You don't get to call for help the man you spent months relentlessly teasing. But he did. And now... Well, he hoped he came.

    Forever finally came to an end when the familiar sight of a red car appeared to Grantaire, whose heart rate processed to mimic a rock drummer. What was he going to say to him? Grantaire left the car and walked towards Enjolras, nervously biting on his lips. The latter furrowed his brow when Grantaire faced him. His reproachful eyes pierced him. Oh, he had enough of that look from him, from his family for a lifetime; but Grantaire knew that you don’t get to roll your eyes at the one you disturbed on the night of Christmas. So Grantaire lowered his gaze and walked past Enjolras, hands on his hips, brow furrowed and jaw hanging open, a flood of reproach in his eyes, but Grantaire wasn’t going to let him the chance to talk, not right now. He got in the passenger seat of the car and Enjolras followed him, sitting behind the wheel. And didn’t start the car right away. Grantaire was now convinced that Enjolras went full-mom and wasn’t decided to make this any less embarrassing for him and any less awkward for the both of them. Grantaire could feel Enjolras’ gaze on him. And the weight of the unasked questions, and the incoming interrogation. So he focused on looking away - he mastered the skill years ago; he heard Enjolras sigh and start the car.  
    “So where are we headed? Garage? Hospital? Am I bringing you back to your family?  
\- Please don’t.”  
    Grantaire was still looking through the passenger window, the fields covered in snow, the lights of Versailles, far ahead of them, the Christmas music on the radio. All was set for the most cliché of the Christmas movies. Not the good ones.  
    “Are we going to talk about this, Grantaire?”  
    Ah yes, the Talk™.  
    “What, Christmas? Well, usually you put up a tree and give presents and listen to ridiculously joyous songs such as this one and...  
\- Oh, please.”  
    Enjolras turned the radio off and sighed again. Why did Grantaire have to be like this? Using irony as a wall of defense, as a layer of his thick armour, was definitely a reflex he should get rid of. Especially in such situations.  
    “You know perfectly well what I mean.”  
   He did not use an holier-than-thou tone. Neither a cold one. Was it… A hint of worry Grantaire could hear in his voice? No no no, it couldn’t be. The waves of cold and adrenaline were probably tricking his mind. Grantaire let a tired sigh out.  
    “What do you want to know?  
\- What do I want to know? I… Am not going to ask you why you would call for help during Christmas night because I had a pretty obvious answer. But still, I’d like to know what happened.  
\- There was a lot of snow and I don’t know, the car just... Skidded I guess.”  
    No answer. Grantaire turned his head to Enjolras, who was handling him a tissue, eyes still focused on the road.  
    “Wipe the blood, at least.”  
    And, for once, Grantaire did as he was told. They spent the next minutes in silence and Grantaire began to wonder where was Enjolras taking them. He was hoping very hard for his flat. No hospital, no disturbing any other family party, no, no. And then it occurred to him. Did he take Enjolras away from his family when he…

    “You smell of wine.”  
    Busted. Grantaire nervously bit his lip. His stress levels suddenly went over the roof.  
    “In my defence, it was mulled wine.  
\- You… You’re drunk. And you took your car. During a snowstorm. While being drunk.  
\- ...Maybe so.”  
    Grantaire heard the silent, cold, underlying anger in Enjolras’ voice.  
    “Goddamnit, Grantaire!”, Enjolras snapped, slamming his hands on the wheel, as Grantaire startled at his raised voice.  
    “You could have injured yourself, Grantaire, badly, or, or… Worst! Do you realize that? Doesn’t “don’t drink and drive” ring a single bell to you? Did you really think that drinking and driving in a snowstorm was the idea of the year?  Do you really want to play the daredevils? Fine, go play, and die in the next ravine you fancy crashing your car into. Live fast, die young, and don’t think one second of the friends that care about you. What you did was, was incredibly… Incredibly stupid. And reckless. Why did you even think about? Why would you even do that? We thought you were getting better, Grantaire. You told us you were getting better, and now this? Really? Do you have the slightest idea of how much we’re worried about you, Grantaire ? Do you ?  
\- We…?  
\- Yes, Grantaire, “we”! Your friends, Grantaire! Me, Courf, Joly, and all the others, we are worried. About you.”  
    Maybe Enjolras kept talking after that. Maybe. Grantaire never knew because he didn’t hear any of it. His mind stopped when Enjolras included himself in the list of people supposedly worried about him. He didn’t feel so warm inside in forever. If Enjolras was worried, did it mean that… Enjolras cared? He felt his cheeks growing red and hastily turned his eyes away, biting his lip so he wouldn’t flash the biggest, idiotic smile while sitting so close to Enjolras. It’s been forever since Grantaire turned into a blushing mess. Since Enjolras made him a blushing mess. The human brain was definitely a strange thing. Picking the on he vowed to annoy until the end of the world. But he wasn’t going to let him have it. A peace agreement? Peace and Christmas, two of the most overrated things on earth. Good thing that Grantaire wasn’t having both.

    He has never been good at breaking silences.  
    “So you worry about me.  
\- Shut up.  
\- That’s funny you’d say that, I thought I was an “insufferable, self-pitying brat”, so why would you even…  
\- Why would I even say that to you ?  
\- Last Halloween ?  
\- We’re not talking about last Halloween.  
\- My point is, Enjolras, that I can't fathom why you would even do that. I mean, worry. All we’ve been doing this past year is arguing, fighting. Maybe I'm doing super well. Maybe everything is fine. How would you know ?  
\- So that's why you called ? Because everything is fine ?  
\- I didn't mean to bother you in the first place. Since, you know, I'm in no position to ask anything from you. But the others weren't answering, which is not…  
\- Oh.”  
    “Oh”, he had said. “Oh”. A light whisper heavy with meanings Enjolras didn't have the time to conceal, apparently. And Grantaire heard all of them. The sinking feel when truth hits. And the disappointment.  
    It seemed obvious to Grantaire that Enjolras wasn't going to be his first choice in times of need - he was extremely surprised that he came in the first place - and… You just don't get to ask favours from someone you had but one friendly chat with. Ever. But Grantaire learnt in this moment that what was obvious to him wasn't to everyone.  
    “Look, I'm sorry”, Grantaire began with a softer voice, “to take you away from your family.”  
    “From my family ?  
\- I'm pretty sure the others didn't answer because they're with family, Christmas, you know. But you answered and you came and I hope your family is okay with you… leaving… the table or whatever. What did you say to them ? Just so we can be on the same page.  
\- Oh my- Grantaire. Christmas is… Exhausting. The ads. The stores. Everyone is so fucking happy and  sport their best pretend-smile. The whole mood is so fake. Make it December and the western world’s problems no longer exist. Wars, hunger? Unimportant, but wait until you hear about the toys everyone is buying.”  
    Usually, Grantaire would have had found some irony to throw at Enjolras’ face. Something about having the opinions of an edgy teen rebelling against their normie parents at Disneyland. Or the irony of hating the season where there's red everywhere. But was going to keep that one for later.  
    “So that's why you answered. Because you hate Christmas. Because of capitalism. Wait, did you use capitalism as an excuse to leave your family ?  
\- No, I mean yes, capitalism, but not really. You know the cliché extends to family and… well you know me, doing things in half has never been my thing.  
\- You're… not getting along with them, right?  
\- No. Let's say I have been honest with them and they didn't like it much. I'm quite sure I'm not welcome anymore to family gatherings.  
\- ...Oh.”  
    Grantaire didn't see that one coming. He bit his lip nervously. He always thought that Enjolras was some kind of daddy’s son, born with a spoon factory into his mouth, only with a lot of ideals. But Grantaire was wrong. At least he was still a part of his family. At least his parents insisted that he came to the family Christmas dinner every year. He didn't go along with them, but he was still a part of their lives… but his spidey senses were telling him that was only because, unlike Enjolras, he hadn't been honest with them like he was.

    They still ask about the imaginary girlfriend he made up two years ago.

    “You were with your family, right?”  
    This time, Enjolras broke the silence first.  
     “...Yes.  
\- And it didn't go well, did it ?  
\- No, to say the least.  
\- Do you want to talk about it? I’d understand if you don't.  
\- No, no, that's okay. They're all so… conservative. We're immigrants. They're immigrants. They turned out to build nice lives and build the social ladder but it doesn't change what they are. They shouldn't talk about the refugees this way.  
\- Grantaire, I am impressed. Could it be that some of our ideals finally grew to you? It was about time!”  
    He had said it with such a light tone and it felt so good - Grantaire laughed. Not a forced laugh, not a mocking laugh, but a genuine chuckle. It felt so good.  
    “So I decided to shut up and drown the horrors they said in mulled wine. It didn't work.  
\- I'm sorry you had to go through that.  
\- It wasn't the first time, it's… whatever. Maybe I won't go next year.  
\- Or maybe you can try to talk them into… some other beliefs ? Convince them ?  
\- There's no way you're turning me into Enjolras junior. That's not happening.”  
    And Enjolras laughed. And it's been ages since Grantaire heard something so lovely. Maybe this Christmas wasn't going to end in total horseshit.  
    “Are you sure we're not taking you to the hospital?  
\- No no no. They have much better to do than treat a few cuts.”  
    That was a white lie. His neck had been shaken up pretty badly and he was certain that there was a few glass shards that got under his skin. But nothing that necessitated to push the cliché as far as spending Christmas in the ER. Grantaire glanced at Enjolras, who was nervously biting his lips, eyes focused on the road. He looked like he had something in his mind. He always looked like he had something in his mind. But this time, he looked like he had something specific in his mind.  
    “Since”, Enjolras began, before marking an hesitant pause, “since we both seem to be the misfits of Christmas… Would like to get drinks at my place? Or I can drive you home. Which would be totally okay. You must be exhausted.”  
    Grantaire didn't answer right away. He fixed his eyes on Enjolras, still focused on the road - he was a way more careful driver than him, he felt almost rocked in his car… Yeah, he was tired. But wait.  
    Did Enjolras invited him over for… drinks? Grantaire just realized. Enjolras invited him to his place. To have drinks. And as his heart began to race, he noticed the slight shade of burning red appearing on Enjolras cheeks. Enjolras was flustered.  
    Christmas was truly magical.  
    “I…  
\- No alcohol, of course.”  
    Alcohol or not, there was no way he was going to say no to this.  
    “No alcohol is fine.  
\- Hot cocoa?  
\- Damn straight.”  
    And he glanced at Enjolras. Who glanced back. And smiled at him. And Grantaire's heart exploded.

    Grantaire has never been to Enjolras’ place before. Enjolras lived in Belleville, where he was quickly caught by gentrification but stayed anyway. He lived in a small flat, but at least he had a proper bedroom rather than sleeping in the sofa. It was an old building and Enjolras’ flat had this old vibe, almost as if time stopped in the last century - or the one before. And there was bits of Enjolras everywhere. The unfinished coffees. The piles of work, tidy clusters of mess there and there. The historical posters, carefully framed.  
    “Are you going to stand on the doorway the whole night?”  
    Enjolras was standing in the living room, having taken off his coat and shoes, which Grantaire still had on, wearing a red sweater, and sparkling eyes, and making one with his surroundings. That was a stupid thing to think, considering that he lived here, but Enjolras embodied the spirit and the vibe given by his flat. Busy, messy, and deliciously vintage.  
    Grantaire took his shoes off and then his co- a jolt of pain went through him. And he tried to muffle the twitch of pain on his face. But of course he couldn’t. And of course Enjolras noticed. And the sparkles in his eyes became as piercing as the glass shards in his left arm.  
    “Grantaire, you’re a fucking idiot.”  
    Enjolras swearing was a rare sight - and he was glad he could witness that.  
    “You… You’re hurt. I could have taken you to the hospital - I should have. Why didn’t you tell me?  
\- Because it’s just a few cuts and few bruises and maybe some bits of glass but I swear it’s nothing worth hospital so please don’t waste everyone’s time on this.  
\- Fine. Bathroom. Now.”  
    Grantaire could have answered but there wasn’t room for any bargaining. In Enjolras’ tone, he could clearly hear that either he was listening or either he was going to be forcefully taken to the ER. So Grantaire followed Enjolras to the bathroom.  
    Enjolras emptied the contempt of a small box next to the sink. Grantaire’s eyes widened at the sight of the countless medical sharps in sterile packagings.  
    “Joly forgot it here after the last demonstration” Enjolras said, answering the unasked question in Grantaire’s eyes. He came closer to Enjolras and leant against the sink.  
    Enjolras tucked the hem of his sweater.  
    “Take that off.”  
    Grantaire froze for a couple of seconds. Not that he didn’t dream of Enjolras saying that to him. It just wasn’t the same context. But he he took his sweater off anyway. And his shirt, after having caught Enjolras’ insisting look.  
    Being half naked in Enjolras’ bathroom wasn’t really the Christmas he had in mind. Not that he was complaining. His upper body was dotted with cuts and bruises and scratches and now that he could see them, he found them quite impressive. But he wasn’t too fond of the purple circling his cuts on his left arm. Enjolras didn’t seem too fond of it neither. He brought his hand closer and touched on of the cuts on his arm. A stinging pain made him flinch away from Enjolras, who sighed and muttered something that was very close to “bloody idiot”.  
    He have felt the bits of glass under his skin and he was pretty sure Enjolras had felt them as well since he ceased tweezers and disinfectant.  
    “Don't move.”  
    Grantaire flinched more and brought his hand closer to the doorknob. Enjolras ceased his arm and brought him closer to him - too far to flee.  
    “Would you be too kind to be cooperative, just for once?”  
    Grantaire huffed and finally gave in to Enjolras’ demands. Because the pain was kind of lingering and kind of getting worst. Also because he was very half naked and very close to him and that was as close to his wildest dreams as it could be.  
    It wasn't torture exactly. But it sure involved a whole lot of pain to Grantaire, who regretted not to have drank more so he could have further drown the pain away. Not that Enjolras wasn't delicate with the tweezers, no. He had the most cautious and careful gestures Grantaire had ever witnessed. It’s just that glass was a literal pain in the as- arm, and Grantaire's face probably explored the whole spectrum of “badly concealed pain” expressions.  
    “I think that's it?  
\- Did you… Did you get them all ?  
\- Well, I think so ? There are… Fifteen of them.  
\- Oh, wow.  
\- Indeed !  
\- Look I'm sorry, this mustn't really be the Christmas Eve you had in mind and…  
\- Please don't apologize for this. And I'm not complaining. Actually it's quite nice to have some company, for once.”  
    A small smile appeared on Enjolras’ lips and made Grantaire lose whatever words he was about to say. The bits of glass were laid down on a sterile pad, coated in blood, carefully aligned. Fifteen indeed. Images of the car crash were still flashing by Grantaire's eyes. Maybe Enjolras saw some aloofness in Grantaire's mind because he laid a gentle, caring hand on Grantaire's shoulder - naked shoulder, which of course immediately dragged his mind back into reality. “What about that hot cocoa I promised you earlier ?”, he said with a soft voice. And of course Grantaire wasn't going to turn him down.

    Grantaire was much less naked than he was earlier, and Enjolras was much less closer to him than he was before but he didn't care much. Because he was in much less pain than before and also because he wasn't sure how much more of the bathroom situation his heart could have withstood. They both had retreated to the kitchen, where Enjolras was busy preparing their drinks and where Grantaire was busy watching him as he was sitting on a stool a the counter.  
    Enjolras was slowly stirring the melted chocolate in the pot, focused, and so was Grantaire, and everything felt calm, so calm, the calmer Grantaire had felt in weeks.  
    “I usually make hot cocoa with water, I hope you don't mind ?  
\- You heathen.  
\- Can't help if it feels lighter on the stomach… And it tastes more like chocolate. Also the cows don't suffer in the making.  
\- You're such a cliché. Incredible.  
\- Soooo do you want one with milk because if you really want I guess we can go get some but…  
\- Hey, don't worry. In Rome, do as the Romans, right ?  
\- I guess ? Hope you'll like it !  
\- Enjolras, it smells like a chocolate heaven and I love it already. Willy Wonka must be dying of jealousy wherever he is.”  
    And Enjolras smiled and Grantaire never found chocolate more relatable. He could have daydreamt about Enjolras’ smile for days but the latter put two heavy mugs in the counter and went to sit besides him.  
    “Are those mini-marshmallows ?  
\- Absolutely !  
\- I can't believe you're that extra.  
\- It's Christmas !  
\- You don't care about Christmas !  
\- It's a... Decent excuse for mini-marshmallows ?  
\- Touché.”  
    Enjolras raised his mug and Grantaire followed his gesture.  
    “To non-traditional holidays and to the end of capitalism, I guess?  
\- You're a nerd. But that sounds good !”  
    And Grantaire took a sip. And it was delicious. Of course it was delicious. And he hated to admit it but Enjolras was… Kind of right. It tasted more of chocolate than any hot chocolate he ever had before. As he lowered the mug he crossed Enjolras’ look… Who began to laugh. Okay, he knew he was more of a walking joke than a human but was there a specific reason for him to laugh ?  
    “You… You have a chocolate mustache. Not that it doesn't look good on you but…”  
    Grantaire’s eyes widened as he felt his stress levels rising. Of course he had to make a fool of himself in front of Enjolras the one time he wasn’t fighting with him. He reached to wipe it when Enjolras caught his wrist.  
    “Let me get that for you.”  
   And he placed his other hand on Grantaire’s cheek, and Grantaire let himself go a little bit at the soft, warm touch of Enjolras. He passed his thumb on his upper lip and Grantaire couldn’t help but grin widely under his touch. Enjolras smiled back. He was close, his face was close, so close, too close; was there such a thing as too close?  
    Grantaire closed his eyes. And Enjolras placed his lips on his, closing the distance between them. Enjolras was kissing him. And he was kissing him back. It was soft, gentle, his hands still on his cheek and around his wrist, his fingers brushing tenderly his skin. Enjolras’ lips tasted like chocolate, honey and warmth, and his embrace felt like the Sun’s. Grantaire got lost in his kiss, more intoxicating than all the wine he had that night, feeling lightheaded from the adrenaline rush.  
    They finally parted, Enjolras still centimetres away from him, and his warm breath brushing his lips.  
    “Merry Christmas”, he whispered.  
    Grantaire smiled. And Enjolras closed the distance again.

* * *

      Time flies even if people don't. A week later it was new year's eve, and Grantaire was drunk and happy. At least for tonight. Of course his friends noticed the cuts and and the bruises on him, Grantaire learnt that trying to shrug it off while mumbling “car crash” didn't work, but also earned him a ton of attention, and worrying and tight hugs. “I'm so happy you're still with us!” had said a very concerned Jehan, who had a hard time to let go. And, as he was surrounded with his friends, and many ridiculous decorations, and even more bottles, and an even more ridiculous amount of love, he couldn't help but catch Enjolras throwing him smiles and winks here and there and of course he returned the attention.  
    They hadn't talked to their friends about… Well, them. Grantaire had no idea how to bring up the big reveal and it seems that, for once, Enjolras too was at a loss. As midnight was approaching, the party's blood alcohol level had certainly raised, and a very tipsy Enjolras was getting closer to Grantaire, which, despite the general drunkenness, won them a few questioning glances.  
    The year ended in cheers and hugs, and as Grantaire returned from the kitchen with an umpteenth beer, he crossed Enjolras. Both of them stopped, and Enjolras pointed at something above their heads. Grantaire looked up to discover mistletoe. And he looked again at Enjolras, who was smiling a little too much. He was about to say something that would have been really close to “this is ridiculous” but the chances were taken away from him when Enjolras pulled him into a long, tipsy, passionate, clumsy kiss. After all, it was never too late to kiss under the mistletoe.  
    And maybe 2018 was going to be a gentler year.


End file.
